Champions of the Deep 3: Creation of a Fellowship
by Brother Andyn
Summary: Delve, if you dare, into the saga that is Champions of the Deep, a tale of fellowship and courage, yet also of blood and darkness beneath the world's surface.


Creation of a Fellowship 

Being the third part of:

Champions of the Deep Scribed by Brother Andyn XII 

**A New Beginning**

The girl trudged along the dusty road south of Altdorf. There was a cool breeze stirring the trees on either side of the path, and the air was warm. Having just escaped a life of slavery, under the iron heel of the cruel and black-hearted Count Alamas Von Sichtor, Flame's clothes were ripped, torn and bloodstained. She had teamed up with her only friend Baltha Greystaff, and they had killed the count. It was the only way for freedom. Eager to find employment in the capital city of the Empire, she hummed a tune as she walked, the rugged scabbard bumping gently against her back. It wasn't long before a curling wisp of smoke arose from above the treetops, and Flame knew she must be close.

With Maximus as the new leader of Champions of the Deep, the party began a new age of glory and riches beneath the Worlds Edge Mountains. Soon they were approached by the Dwarf Lord of Karak Izor. He persuaded them to descend into the newly rediscovered tombs of the ancestor-Kings of the small principality of Heldegrad, in order to return the Heldegrad crown.

The door to the tavern banged against the wall and a slim figure stood silhouetted in the entrance. All eyes turned, and Flame strode nonchalantly towards the barkeeper.

'Which way to Altdorf?'

'Why not stay awhile, rest, and drink?'

Flame's eyes grew hard and she grabbed the front of the man's shirt. Bouncers closed in behind her.

'I said, which way to Altdorf?'

'That way, lady,' he stammered, 'take the right road until you reach a t-junction, and there'll be a sign!'

Flame turned and brushed past the bouncers as she made her way out.

The red rooves of the greatest city in the Empire loomed above white walls as the girl walked to the gates. The guards inspected her for a moment then allowed her to pass.

As she paced down the main street, and into the great plaza, she was surrounded by many sounds: the constant chatter of conversation; the shouts of merchants selling their wares; the clop of hooves and the creak and clatter of carriages and wagons as they passed. A gigantic stature of Sigmar, patron God of the Empire stood in the centre, and birds perched on his broad shoulders and along the mighty, outstretched warhammer.

'Hmmm…' Flame thought, 'it shouldn't be too hard to find a tavern in this place…'

Before an hour had passed, she found herself sitting at the same table as a bunch of rough mercenaries, a glass of wine in front of her. They talked about the cleansing of the magical 'Fountain of Light,' and Flame accepted the mission, realising she needed a foothold in the ways of mercenaries and adventurers.

Flame drained her glass. As she stood up, she couldn't help catching sight of the advertisement on the notice board. Keeping the name in mind, she left Ye Olde Dungeoneers Tavern.

'Skaven curse, eh?' Maximus grunted, as the old, greybearded wizard told them what they must do.

'The others…failed, you must go, and I know you will succeed.'

'Whoa, old man,' Aethys interrupted, wasn't it just the "Jade Staff" mission that you've employed us for?'

'Indeed,' Baltha replied, 'and yet you have a good reputation. I believe you will be victorious where others have died.'

'Right…well, I don't know where Deraphin is right now,' Maximus said gruffly, glancing towards the other side of the common room, 'but we will triumph. We always do. You can count on us.'

'Good, then try and be back as soon as possible.'

'So, Deraphin's found a bit of…company, then?' Aethys mused as the two warriors sauntered along the path winding towards the Middle Mountains.

'So it seems…'

When the sun was nearing the end of its cycle across the sky, the companions glimpsed a ragged figure dragging itself towards them. It was pitiful, and seemed to be carrying a sword. When it saw them, it uttered a cry for help.

'Come, we have a weak and helpless someone to investigate.' Aethys' eyes glinted as he detected the traces of magical power about the figure.

It was a girl, young and apparently hurt. Maximus and Aethys carried her from the road, and laid her down in the fields. There they tended and healed her wounds as best they could, and soon she wanted to speak.

'I…I am Flame.' She told them briefly about her history and the recent events that had ended with her party's decimation at the claws of the Stormvermin.

'We…we are on that same quest,' Aethys stated. 'The wizard…'

'Can you walk?' Maximus helped Flame up. 'You can show us the way to these scum, where we will deal with them once and for all…'

With the Stormvermin band destroyed, and the Fountain of Light cleansed of the vile Warpstone, Maximus and Aethys asked the Sorceress Flame if she would like to join the group, Champions of the Deep.

'I would…I would indeed,' she replied, recognising the name from that of the advertisement in Ye Olde Dungeoneers Tavern.

'So, we are four,' Maximus shouted, raising his meaty fist in triumph, 'Maximus, Aethys, Deraphin and Flame.'

The next few weeks were particularly busy, with Maximus occupied with various merchants and jewellers wanting him to take a job as a bodyguard or security guard for their stores. With the Champions reputation growing, and the quests they had completed piling up, more people were interested in employing the leader in his spare time. Finally, and unfortunately after the party had been offered a reward for assassinating a goblin shaman, Maximus accepted a highly lucrative job as the store guard for an extremely high-paying noble with a business in selling gold and jewel wares. Therefore, while he was protecting the treasures of Rupert Van Zamellius, Aethys and Flame agreed to assassinate the shaman, which was a complete success.

Rumours abounded of a powerful, long-lost Skaven artefact that had been rediscovered in the Worlds Edge Mountains. The artefact was a skull-shaped icon made from raw Warpstone, and its mutating powers were said to be beyond imagination. The icon had to be destroyed at all costs to stop the evil Skaven reclaiming it, and the only way to destroy it was to hurl it into the cleansing flames of a Firechasm.

The Champions of the Deep were approached by a group of disgruntled dwarfs, who had not been able to enlist anyone to complete the task. Although Maximus was occupied, Aethys and Flame cheerfully accepted, and luckily a third warrior joined them, expanding the party. His name was Jarod De Flure, a noble from Bretonnia who had no sons and no source of income. He was eagerly welcomed, and soon the trio was off to glory and riches.

The Emperor's Wizards informed Karl Franz that the mystical signs warned of an imminent invasion, but they could see no further than this. They had no idea where the assault would come from, and so the most aged Wizard from the Celestial College suggested that the answer could be found in a magical pool – the Fountain of Fate. While the Empire prepared its borders for war, the Champions of the Deep were chosen to search for the Fountain. In this quest they succeeded, and warned the Emperor of a massive army of Orcs and Goblins gathering in the Worlds Edge Mountains. His grace rewarded them richly, with a vast amount of gold, as they deserved.

Below the lost Dwarf stronghold of Karak Vlag, the ancient forge fires still burned. Now occupied by the forces of evil, the flames' magical energies were being used to create chaotic and cursed weapons. The forges had to be extinguished before their new, dark masters learned how to create weapons of even more awesome power.

The Dwarf Lord of Zhufbar was host to the descendants of the lords of Karak Vlag, and shared their fears. Although the quenching of the ancient flames seemed an act of unthinkable wrong, it was the only option available to prevent the creation of a greater evil.

The exiled lords of Karak Vlag knew that only the first item forged in the magical fires – a ring of power – could extinguish the flames. Aethys, Flame, Jarod and Deraphin had to first defeat the guardians of the Firechasm, then relieve the ring from the finger of a draconic statue, before hurling it into the fires.

The dungeon was long, dark and dangerous. Many evil monsters crowded its dank, cobweb-infested rooms, and often the warriors were nearly overwhelmed. But eventually, they made it through the deep, to the ancient forges of Karak Vlag. Here they were embroiled in a vicious fight against brutal Minotaurs and other foul beasts. But, when it came to crossing the chasm, two of their number plunged into its depths – Flame herself and Jarod De Flure. It was a close encounter, for fortunately, Aethys and Deraphin were able to use their precious Dawnstones to bring them back from the abyss of darkness.

However, when they finally reached the far side, the ring would not slip off the dragon's claw, and the disturbance Jarod was making with his curses and sword impacts only attracted more creatures.

Finally, after much frustration and anger, Jarod ripped the ring of power from the statue and hurled it into the depths of the flaming chasm, extinguishing the forges.

Upon their return, the Champions of the Deep were relieved to be rewarded with immense treasures, as they knew a great evil had vanquished.

**XIII**

**Glory & Riches**

The six Champions of the Deep: Maximus the Mangler, Deraphin the Mad, Aethys Starblade, Flame, Jarod De Flure and now, Bringaz Stonefist, united to once again renew the common purpose of the avid adventurer. East they travelled, to the Worlds Edge, to fight against foul monsters and win gold and treasure beyond the wildest imaginations of the Empire's fattest merchants. The dwarf had joined them one night in Ye Olde Dungeoneers', and was welcomed greatly, especially by the Elf Ranger.

'What took you so long, master dwarf? We have great need of one of your kind here.'

Bringaz Stonefist answered warily.

'We Dwarfs are a slow-moving folk, and yet we are as hard a warrior as any! I look forward to seeing you prove yourself in battle!'

'As I look forward to fighting alongside you.'

The way was beset with danger: numerous trolls, ghouls and other vile evils such as daemons lurked in the depths, in the deep, where no man had ventured for thousands of years. The battles were fierce and much blood was spilt, mostly on the part of the monsters and creatures, which were slain by the heroic warriors. The Champions hacked and slaughtered their way through chamber after chamber, cutting a bloody path through at least three gigantic caverns. These were infested with denizens of the dark and the cob-webbed passages and narrow tunnels were inhabited by hundreds of bats, some of which were giant, red-eyed beasts which swooped down to attack the Champions and which sought to tear them asunder.

And it was Glory & Riches they found, for the Imperial Noble obtained an artefact not dissimilar to Deraphin's Crown of Sorcery: The fabled Diadem of Enchantment. This made the number of spellcasters in the party to four, though Deraphin's use of powerful sorcery continued to undermine Flame's position within the group, much like before, when the power-lusting Fire wizard Dieter Zauberlich was a member. Tempers flared between Deraphin and Flame, occasionally resulting in a quiet scuffle as Maximus and Bringaz Stonefist led the way through the dungeon ahead.

And Jarod De Flure found more than he bargained for. Coming upon a suit of armour, fashioned from what the dwarfs call 'Meteoric Iron,' the noble immediately cast aside his ornate breastplate and put it on, pleased at his awesome discovery. With this, he could be protected far better and far more formidable in combat – encased in a second skin of extra-hard iron. But to his horror, it did indeed become a second skin, for he could not remove the armour, even with the help of mighty Maximus and powerful Bringaz. Giving a huge sigh of resignation, Jarod accepted his chosen fate, his doom to spend what would seem like eternity locked in his bright shell, his shiny hide, his protective carapace.

The Champions of the Deep, it seemed, were going to end up an outlandish group indeed…

**XIV**

**Training**

Aethys Starblade, Elf Ranger Mage of the Dispossessed and all round expert on the ebb and flow of the Winds of Magic, sensed that the young Sorceress, Flame, could do with a little practice. And so it was that the elf took the girl northeast, to an abandoned system of ruins and catacombs. Here Flame honed her skills in the magical arts and cleansed the dungeon of the vileness that Aethys knew had reinhabited it since it was last visited, a hundred years ago.

Her confidence grown, Flame returned to the catacombs in two days time, under the watchful guidance of Aethys Starblade. Together they entered 'Earthdeep,' and killed the greenskins and Skaven that had decided to return.

To ensure her talents with Spellcasting were confirmed, Aethys led Flame deeper into the heart of Earthdeep. The creatures here were a little more challenging, but the heroes prevailed, collecting meagre items and pocketing what coins they found. Unexpectantly, Aethys stumbled upon an item of rare power and ancient, elven origins. It was a Bow of Loren, crafted by the legendary Wood Elves and enchanted by their mystical Sorceresses. Such a weapon would prove valuable in any fight against a numerous foe, especially goblins or Skaven, and would be an addition to Aethys' already considerable collection.

Back in Altdorf, Aethys decided to make the Champions' journeying a little easier. Purchasing a mule and cart with a handsome sum of gold, he brought them back to Ye Olde Dungeoneers Tavern. Maximus arrived to congratulate the elf and the pair were engaged in healthy conversation when Flame turned up with the local newssheets. On the front was plastered an unusual and disturbing article: Lesbian Sorceress caught in Sex Romp with Noble's daughter! Humiliated and on the verge of tears, Flame retreated to her room, while Maximus and Aethys stood shocked and angry at this falsehood. The elf snapped at the ignorance and stupidity of humans and the ex-pit fighter ground his teeth together, swearing to get back at those responsible…

The Castle Von Blackonberg: an ancient fortress in the heart of the Great Forest. Ruined for centuries, it has recently been restored and fortified. It is not known who, or what, now inhabits this dark place but one thing is certain: it does not bode well for the Empire.

As the last part of Flame's basic training, Aethys led her into a cave, whose cobble-stoned passages led up to the castle's dungeons. Travelling through the murky depths, they crossed a sewer and entered a large chamber, decorated at one end with a hideous, stone idol. It was here that Aethys' fears were confirmed: an evil Chaos Dwarf sorcerer and his foul greenskin slaves had taken up residence and were practising some arcane ritual when the two heroes arrived. And so Flame was pitted against enemy magic users for the first time, and was hard pressed to defeat them. With the Ranger's help, they dealt the coup-de-grace in close combat, Aethys striking down the evil dwarf while Flame incinerated the orcish shaman with a devastating Fire Hammer.

Further up, towards the higher dungeon and the bowels of the castle's lowest storerooms, Aethys and Flame battled against a lone gigantic spider, which had no doubt feasted on Blackonberg's recent prisoners. Their bones and grisly remains were scattered around this cell, beyond which lay the jailor's quarters. The giant beast was tough, but a combination of sword and sorcery prevailed and the heroes were soon on their way out.

Yet now other monsters barred their way – a band of Skaven, who had followed the Champions. The air in the corridors blistered with magic as they hacked and blasted their way to freedom.

**XV**

**Dark Times**

As the Champions entered the year 2522, the Empire became dark. With the recent events in Altdorf, and the Conclave of Light, rumour had it that a great Champion had arisen in the north, to unite the Marauder tribes and bring a second darkness across the Old World.

The call to arms had been sounded, and the Emperor's armies were gathering to prepare for the inevitable invasion. Maximus promptly decided that suitable training and adventuring was needed, in order for the warriors to practice their skills and talents in warfare. The tunnels of Earthdeep, infested with all manner of gruesome beasts, were cleansed again and again. The Champions ransacked the treasure troves they found, and it yielded enough gold for them to pay for even more training, under some of the most professional captains and generals in Altdorf. The Champions were prepared, for anything the north could throw at them, and soon they would join the fight against Chaos.

The messenger came at dawn, two weeks after the party had returned from its last venture beneath the Worlds Edge.

'Greetings, Champions of the Deep and allies of the Empire. It is the wish of his Imperial Majesty, Karl Franz, that you honour him with your presence, three weeks from this morn. A grand meeting of…the best guilds of adventurers will take place at the Imperial Palace, to negotiate what ways they will be able to contribute to the defence of our glorious Empire, and indeed, the Old World.'

'We'll be there, by Sigmar's Hammer,' Maximus roared, standing straight and tall as Sigmar himself once did, a powerful incarnation of strength and courage.

'I agree,' Flame insisted, 'Sword and Sorcery must be combined in order to balance our efforts with others.'

'Indeed,' Aethys added, 'for in times of shadow, and conflict brought from the north, the civilised races must stand together, to unite against evil.'

'Yes, I will enjoy the spectacle of the Emperor's halls,' Jarod De Flure said, his voice muffled from within the confines of his helm. 'Oft I have dreamed of such places, not having been home to my estate for many a year.'

'As have I,' Deraphin concluded, his eyes glinting madly, 'since I am banished from my home, and have no hope of ever returning there. The seat of Humanity…it must be magnificent.'

And so it was that the Champions came to the Imperial Palace.

Following a long and charismatic speech from the Emperor, Karl Franz gave the best warrior companies two major choices. The first was to travel east, and engage the hordes of Orcs pouring across the Worlds Edge Mountains. Here the warriors would be on familiar ground, and would be slowing down the enemy, before it could reach the rest of the Old World. The second was reconnaissance missions, patrolling and scouting throughout the lands of the Empire, seeking out and fighting against the enemy within, aiding the Templars of Sigmar and other such organizations. This was the option Maximus chose, and the others agreed, seeing the advantages of operating on new ground and pitting themselves against potentially new adversaries.

'Welcome,' the Witch Hunter addressed the assembled Champions in a voice that echoed with gravely self-confidence. He was a tall man, clean-shaven and raven-haired, and clad in a scarlet leather jerkin. He wore deep black gloves and boots, the shade of midnight's hour, tan breeches and a long, black cloak. A similarly toned, broad-brimmed hat adorned his head, decorated with a silver Hammer icon, the same symbol as that which hung on a chain around the Templar's neck. A cross-belt decked with two pistols traversed his chest, and a scabbarded longsword hung over his back, its plain, steel hilt engraved with holy script.

'You have been assigned to the Templars of Sigmar, due to your leader's obvious favour,' he confirmed, nodding in Maximus' direction. 'I am Blair Von Tyrenburg and I shall be giving you a number of missions to complete over the course of the next several months.'

He began walking with the Champions down the richly furnished corridor, directing them to follow. The walls were ornamented with finely painted portraits, of the followers of Sigmar engaged in battle with hideous Daemons, and the floor's surface was darkened stonework.

'Your first mission, shall be to prove your loyalty. You will rescue one of my men, from the clutches of…a sorcerer. But first, let me show you to your new quarters…'

XVI

The Beginnings of Deceit

The dimly lit, windowless cell swam into focus as Deraphin opened his bleary eyes. The walls of this small room were bare. A single, yellow lamp hung from the low ceiling, like a lone firefly, ensnared in a collector's cabinet. Struggling to lift himself, he quickly realised that he was chained down in a hard, metal chair, bolted to the floor. Enraged at this injustice, he pulled at his bonds, only to hurt his wrists and ankles as they strained themselves in agony. Where was he, what manner of vile, dark-souled person would do something to him like this? The unanswered questions floated lazily around in his head, accompanied by a strong, throbbing pain. Tilting his head forward, Deraphin was horrified to see the drop of blood oozing its way down the bridge of his nose, obvious evidence that he had been involved in some kind of fight. Was he a prisoner, in some dark tower, kidnapped by an evil sorcerer and held against his will? Or perhaps captured by the Pursuers, finally, and dragged screaming to his eternal punishment? Maybe he was – his mind flew back, trying desperately to remember the events of recent days.

An image sprang into his mind's eye: a high-ceilinged, vaulted chamber, one of impressive grandeur that rivalled the lost halls of the fallen dwarf strongholds. This was the audience chamber of Karl Franz, Emperor of Mankind. He saw a golden throne, gigantic statues and hundreds of unrecognisable faces. These were the best adventurers and dungeoneers in the Empire, he knew. Yes, it came back to him; he recalled how the Champions of the Deep were assigned to someone, some organization, to fight against Chaos, the evil that infested the Empire. Who was this figure, a powerful and influential citizen and clad in black and scarlet? He saw him clasp forearms firmly with Maximus, the ex-pit fighter standing out as a pillar of bronzed muscle and armour plates. Was it…was it one of the Pursuers? No, it couldn't be. Was it one of the Emperor's generals, come to give the Champions a mission, in defence of the glorious Empire? Or was it…

'Yes,' a cold voice said from behind him, 'it was I, Blair Von Tyrenburg.'

'You?' Deraphin rasped, his voice sounding dry and cracked. He tried to turn around but the chains restricted him in place. Rattling them furiously, he shouted at the Witch Hunter.

'How dare you do this to me! I am…a Champion of the Deep! I…I am a friend of Maximus, blessed of…of Sigmar! Release me!'

There came the echoes of gloved hands clapping, slowly, with the sinister laughter of Von Tyrenburg.

'What…in Sigmar's Empire makes you think you're a…_friend_ of Herr Maximus?'

The deranged elf gritted his teeth and shut his eyes, trying to concentrate. The winds of magic ebbed and flowed through his mind. He reached out his senses…but they were unreachable.

'We have taken care of your…sorcerous addiction, Deraphin,' Von Tyrenburg sneered, the heels of his boots clicking against the cold, stone floor as he moved into Deraphin's field of vision. He gestured at the elf's neck with one hand. Deraphin's eyes snapped open and he stared down at himself. Shackled to an iron chain about his throat, was suspended a shimmering, black amulet, seemingly imbued with an inner darkness.

'What…' He began.

'Obsidian,' the Witch Hunter said mockingly, drawing a slender, silver sword and tapping the amulet gently, the blade inches from Deraphin's face. 'The Bane of Wizards.'

Jerking his head back, Deraphin grimaced then stared defiantly at his captor.

'Why have you brought me here? Where are…my friends?'

Another white smile appeared on the face of the Witch Hunter.

'You, who barely know the name of the patron god of the Empire, your leader's divine deity, still believe that you have…friends?'

The elf remained silent, while the sword moved up to point at his face.

'Ah…Deraphin…what are we to do with you? While the others, at this very moment, are proving their loyalty to me and the Templars of Sigmar by rescuing one of my men, you…you must be tested by other ways.'

Grasping the Witch Hunter's meaning, Deraphin panicked.

'No! What have I done? You cannot do this to me! I have…I have already proven myself…'

'To the Champions, yes,' Von Tyrenburg continued. 'I understand that you are the longest standing member in the party. And yet…you seem to me…not exactly the typical comrade-in-arms.'

'What…what do you mean?' Deraphin spluttered and shook his head, shaking droplets of blood left and right. Clearly the wound in his forehead had reopened slightly. The Witch Hunter stepped back, sheathing his sword.

'You will be interrogated, Deraphin. The crown you wore is an artefact of great…sorcery, and I think you have something to hide. Something of your past, which you do not wish to share…especially now you have been assigned to the Templars of Sigmar.'

A small arched door in the far corner of the room burst open and two halberd-armed men stormed in, wearing helmets and breastplates. They bore the insignia of the twin-tailed comet and were obviously men in the service of Sigmar.

'No!' Deraphin yelled dementedly as they approached him. 'No! You cannot do this! I am not of your kind, I…I am an ally, not an enemy!'

One of the soldiers slammed his mailed fist across the elf's chin then broke his nose with a powerful backhanded blow. The other produced a key and it wasn't long before the despairing elf was being dragged towards the door.

'Prepare for your incarceration, Herr Deraphin,' Von Tyrenburg chuckled. 'I think you're in for a very…warm welcome!'

Maximus cleansed the blackish, Skaven filth off the rune-encrusted head of his warhammer. The mission had been long, and hard, and had left the Pit Fighter with a scratch across his left arm. In another couple of days it would just be another battle scar, the simple price of being one of the finest warriors in the Empire. From across the room came the clink of gold as Grulf sifted through the heap of coins and jewels.

'Find anything…useful?' Maximus threw the dirty rag back onto the pile of Skaven heads and spat with disgust. The vile rat-men were some of the most foul creatures he had ever encountered, and being the spawn of chaos, justly deserved their pestilent reputation.

Grulf picked up a rusty sword, decorated with a small emerald. Rubbing the dust off the gem, he tore it from the hilt and tossed the ancient junk back.

'There's not much here…save gold. Not much worth keeping.'

'I agree,' came the deep voice of Jarod De Flure, his armoured bulk sauntering about the burnished shininess. 'Nothing at all that I can build into my armour.'

Flame was busy staring at the contents of a potion bottle, the blue of her eyes reflected by the misty colour within.

'A potion of water-walking,' Aethys said in his lilting voice as he joined her. 'Worth holding onto, perhaps. But we shall not find water here.' He hefted his new-found Bow of Loren.

'I see you have rediscovered a artefact of great power.' The sorceress' eyes washed over the elven-crafted bow.

'Yes, one of many. I hope this one doesn't break as easily as the last one.'

'So…so what was that _monster_ you saved me from?' The witch hunter's soldier asked the Pit fighter.

'Skaven Warlock,' Maximus told the dishevelled man standing near. The chains had been broken from his thin arms, and his clothes were soiled with blood and earth. 'Skaven…they do exist. Despite what the greater population of the Empire believe. I hate them.'

'I owe you my life,' the soldier continued. 'How can I…'

'Repay us? Your master will pay us handsomely…well, some of us.' Maximus wondered what had become of the mad elf, Deraphin. Then again, he didn't care. None of the Champions did. Except maybe Bringaz Stonefist, the latest warrior to join them. But he was away on 'business,' and had not been chosen by Von Tyrenburg to go on the quest.

'Come!' The Champions' strong leader addressed his companions. 'We make for the surface! And the celebrations that await us there!'

XVII

A Beastly Bounty

Ladril had told them that the Avenging Angels had broken. Two of their members had betrayed them, the two dwarfs. Battle had consumed the party deep within a cavern, and Ladril had nearly been killed. But fortunately, the other three members had all been present and had been able to band together to defeat Durak and Azgrim. Giving them an honourable death in combat was all that could be done. And yet Corlos, the traitorous elf, had not yet been caught, or dealt with. Ulfric himself, who had accepted the job, had betrayed the Champions. The bounty hunt had been all but forgotten. But now, Ladril had returned. Conversing with Von Tyrenburg, he had persuaded the Witch Hunter to make this…the Champions' next quest. It was time…time to eliminate Corlos forever.

'But you must stay in my service!' Rupert Van Zamellius roared, his red face livid with rage. Maximus stood there hesitantly with his pack over one shoulder.

'I choose to go. I no longer need your…petty crowns. I have greater gold to earn, I am tired of not having the time to fight alongside my warrior companions.'

'If you leave I'll…'

'You'll what?'

'Very well…I challenge you to a duel!'

Maximus stared, then burst into hearty laughter. This was preposterous. A simple merchant, hideously overweight and filled with his absolute greed and the knowledge that his store was protected by one of the most dangerous fighters in the Empire, dared to think that he could cross swords with him.

'You would fight me?'

Rupert unsheathed the longsword he wore at his waist and waved it about childishly.

'I'm like Maximus the invincible, who knows no fear!'

Maximus laughed, subtly. 'I think you've been afraid all your life.'

'Tomorrow, at dawn, with swords.'

'I can't, you old fool. At dawn I set out on…none of your business.'

'Are you a coward, Maximus the -?'

Maximus silenced the merchant with a stony gaze. He gritted his teeth and thought a while. If he left, Van Zamellius would spread rumours, staining his reputation and demonising him as one of the not-so-greatest warriors of the Empire. But he could not simply murder the man. This duel could provide him with…an opportunity.

'Fair enough, you will die at dawn.'

With Jarod de Flure in the process of fixing his armour, and Maximus honour-bound to end the life of his former employer, the party began on the journey to the Grey Mountains west of Wissenland, where it was known that Corlos was hiding. Flame, Aethys and Grulf were accompanied, at last, by Deraphin, who had endured the minor tortures of the Templars of Sigmar, and who had been given a chance to prove himself worthy in the eyes of Von Tyrenburg. The number of monsters the elf killed would equal how favourable he would be.

The steaming corpses of the trolls, beastmen, Skaven and other vile monsters of the deep lay around them. Grulf, the mighty, mysterious, armoured warrior had led the party through a vast, subterranean cave system, where it was now known that Corlos made his home. The local authorities of Wissenland had so far been unsuccessful in rooting the elf out. His pack of monstrous minions was immense. Not anymore. Now…now it was destroyed.

'You're a dead man, Corlos!' Grulf bellowed at the traitorous elf on the far side of the chasm, as he and Deraphin held back the tide of evil flowing through the doorway with their steely weapons slick with blood.

'I think dead elf is the correct terminology,' Aethys grunted as he and Flame blasted deadly spells at the beastmen trying to cross the rickety bridge. Flaming carcasses plunged into the abyss. On the other side, Corlos sat atop the old stone tomb, his eyes flashing as he cast back his own spells, each one drained of power and cast aside. It was inevitable. Corlos would die.

As the burning body of Corlos spun from the tomb, the Starblade descended and struck off its grisly head, sending both screaming into the fire chasm. Flame's magic and Aethys' sword had done well. They had put an end to something, which should have been dealt with long ago. Deraphin limped across to the pile of gold and treasure.

'I got my bloody body count,' he spat, kicking coins to scatter across the cobbled floor. I fought well, bloody well!'

'You did, for once,' Flame said coldly. It seemed as if the enmity between the magic-users was growing, as always. Grulf tossed aside a metal blade he had been examining. It fell to the floor with a clang.

'Let's go, there's almost nothing of value here. Except too much gold to carry.'

'Agreed,' Aethys said quickly. 'Some of those hell-beasts could be coming to claim what's theirs.'

Blair Von Tyrenburg surveyed the ragged Deraphin with new respect. Grulf, Flame and Aethys were gathered around him.

'I am not an unreasonable man. I grant you your…well deserved freedom.'

Deraphin breathed a sigh of relief. Von Tyrenburg continued.

'See to it that you take…a break from active duty, though, Herr Deraphin. I have received word from your leader, that he wishes to…pursue a personal aim that does not involve your contribution.'

The Witch Hunter smiled as the Champions turned and walked away.

XVIII

Catacombs of Blood

'Tears of blood – that was what the priest said, that the statue had been weeping tears of blood.'

Maximus had met Aethys alone in his quarters. He had received a vision from Sigmar, and now it was up to them to cleanse the catacombs beneath a monastery. A monastery that just so happened to be ruined, decrepit, and several miles deep in the heart of the south-eastern forest. Aethys was up for the task and so with Von Tyrenburg's approval, they would set out for the monastery.

'Of course,' the Witch Hunter agreed, 'anything to aid His Most Holy Sigmar. See too it that you succeed.'

'Oh, we will,' Maximus breathed. 'By Sigmar, everything there…will die. I've had enough of being a bodyguard of some overly greedy, self-serving jewel merchant. It's time for me to become a warrior again.'

In the bowels of the place, they encountered many evils, from Skaven gutter runners to chaos worshippers and creatures of the deep. To the eerie sounds and thumping music of a gothic, distorted organ, they hacked and slaughtered their way through in the name of Holy Sigmar. Finally, they purified the altar chamber and yet, unavoidably stained it with bestial blood.

Now the priests could reinstate this temple and fortify it again as a place of sanctuary and devotion.

On the journey back to Altdorf, they beat off a band of Orcs who dared to challenge them. A nearby cave also revealed a Chaos Sorcerer, and his warband. Thwarting their plans of conquest and eliminating this threat to the Empire, the worthy of Sigmar and his faithful companion and loyal friend returned to Ye Olde Dungeoneers Tavern rewarded with pride and honour.

XIX

Temple of Doom

With the Storm of Chaos in full swing, and the armies of the Dark Gods ravaging the northern Empire, chaos cults had actively attacked and battled against Imperial settlements from within. The Templars of Sigmar and many other Templar Orders were working overtime, hunting down and rooting out the forces of evil wherever they could be found. But where one cult was 'destroyed' another would spring up, and previous cults that were known to be have been eradicated would begin anew, with another magister, a new master to take advantage of the current turmoil, waging war against the Empire and preaching that the End Times had come.

'You will travel to a nearby cave system,' Blair Von Tyrenburg began. 'It is rumoured that it harbours…a dark secret. I believe you know of the cultist, Herr Zauberlich?'

There was a visible gasp from Deraphin.

'He's dead…I killed him myself!'

'You did?'

'Well…I…the point is – he was killed!'

'I did not say he has risen from the dead, Herr Deraphin. These…caves, are postulated to be the new base of the Coven of the Golden Eagle.'

'The Tzeentchian cult of which Dieter was a Magister,' Aethys explained.

'I see that…your leader and sorceress are not with you…today,' the Witch Hunter continued. Aethys looked uncomfortable, then glanced at Deraphin and Grulf.

'Uh…not indeed. They are…busy with other matters.'

'Other matters?' Von Tyrenburg's cold eyes slitted. 'What could be more important than…'

'They are spending some quality time together,' Deraphin burst out. 'Now, about the quest?'

'Very well. The resurrection of the Coven of the Golden Eagle was inevitable. Now you must penetrate their temple and wipe them all out…if you can. I assume that there'll be others.'

'No problem,' Grulf grunted, putting on his heavy warhelm. 'We'll annihilate the bastards.'

'I don't think it's that simple, Herr Grulf,' Von Tyrenburg reprimanded.

'Don't worry, my lord,' Aethys told him as the trio headed towards the great double doors, 'we'll do our best.'

Having fought their way through the woods where Dieter Zauberlich had been slain, battled against orcs and beastmen, probably of the same tribe that Deraphin and Ulfric has fought, then discovered the hidden door in the rock face, the trio of Champions had been assaulted by mobs of frenzied cultists and their Altered kin alike. The ritual had been stopped, and the nine cultists cut down. Grulf looked up at the corpse of the skewered sorcerer hanging from the wall, his assistant warlock sliced into halves below him. Arcane energy still crackled about his lifeless body, and around the head of his broken staff. The skulls of the powerful and tough warriors, no doubt evil bodyguards or lieutenants, hung from chains on his belt, proof that the Coven of the Golden Eagle existed and had risen again. He was glad that this Dieter character, who Deraphin kept ranting about, had not been resurrected, for if he had, they might have had a larger problem on their hands.

'We must return,' he bellowed at the other warriors, as they scanned the chamber for treasures or stashes of gold. 'There is nothing here.'

'Indeed, my armoured friend, this place is a ruined temple of Tzeentch, master of sorcery. No items worth recovering lie here.' The elf ranger prepared to leave.

'Pity,' Deraphin sighed, picking up his bow and unstoppering his ale flask.

The trio of warriors sauntered through the ash and dust, making sure to topple the cursed statuettes of golden eagles on their way out. A cloud of yellow dust billowed. The stone daemon's eyes gleamed…

XX

The Fall of De Flure

'You are to travel east, and enter the place called…Earthdeep,' Von Tyrenburg told the Champions. Gathered were Aethys, Grulf and Jarod. Admittedly, now that the party numbered seven warriors, not all the Champions could meet at once – there was much study, training and business to attend to.

'It is now known that here, amidst the ruins and catacombs, a daemon called Verag has made his lair. He possesses a stone gargoyle, and I believe he was summoned by the sorcerer named Gen. This is one of the Magisters of the Brethren of the Golden Eagle, your main enemies. Verag is desecrating the Tomb of Fellmarg – a once powerful ally of the Dwarfs of Mount Silverspear. He was a mighty Imperial Commander, a general from Reikland, and was slain in battle by a monstrous Orc warlord. Destroy Verag, scatter his dust to the winds and cleanse the tomb. Gen's creation cannot be allowed to wreak havoc on the Empire, especially as even now Archaon's Horde is encamped in the centre of our lands.'

The Tomb was silent. Silent with the cold, black shadows of the grave. The blood-spattered Champions stood, warily; waiting for the monsters they knew would come. Being the 'training grounds' where Aethys had taught Flame, and a place of evil that skaven, orcs and other beasts were drawn to constantly; it was always going to be repopulated. They had been assaulted by Minotaurs, Mummies and even giant, daemonic bat-like creatures that swooped down from the ceiling, red eyes flashing with hate. This was the first time Aethys felt afraid, the first time he had bled from his wounds, the first time he had felt physical pain from damage. None of them had escaped some hurt – Jarod's armour was breached and Grulf had suffered a shoulder wound, though he ignored it completely.

And then, with a roar of greenskin rage, a door burst open, smashed from its hinges and a giant, orcish titan stormed into the chamber. He was colossal, wielding a cleaver in one claw, a massive-bladed axe in the other. A horned helm protected his bony skull, while his body – one big block of solid muscle, was clad in heavy plate and chain, decorated with greenskin icons and the bones of men. Behind him poured several other large orcs, not quite as big but still frighteningly bestial. A shaman rattled his staff, energy lashing into Aethys with deadly power, as Jarod De Flure charged headlong into the Chieftain. Grulf bellowed his own warcry and engaged the remainder of the creatures, beheading the first one with a spray of blood.

As the magical duel sparked off and the armoured warrior occupied the bodyguards, Jarod and the Orc Chieftain clashed in mortal combat. The sound of battle rang painfully loud about the Tomb, bouncing off the sarcophagus and ringing on the heaped treasures, weapons and armour that were tributes to Fellmarg. Hours passed, as both man and orc fought for supremacy, scoring countless wounds on each other, not necessarily light ones. Blood both red and green ran between the cobblestones, seeping down into cracks and splashing the wall with its gleaming wetness. Jarod cursed and wished for his abandoned pistols, but his blade held against the infernal axe and cleaver. All three weapons were already chipped and notched, but it mattered not as hellish beast met noble human. The Orc's armour was tattered, holes punched in the chain mail, the armour plates scratched and slashed. Jarod's own second skin was broken and torn, huge rents in the meteoric metal gaping and exposing the all-too human flesh beneath. But courage and valour ran deep in Jarod's thoughts, knowing that if he fell it would be in honour and sacrifice. The duel between wizards had ended; the orc shaman's head severed and his corpse lying upon a heap of gold coins. Many more orcs were dead, Grulf continuing his relentless onslaught. But Aethys dared not intervene; knowing that to do so would harm Jarod's honour and perhaps even assist in his demise. If only Maximus were here, to see such a battle of steel and nerves, but alas. And then, an orc arm flew from its socket, orc life-blood pumping into the air like a volcano spitting green magma. The Orc gave a howl of anger and Jarod pressed his advantage, thrusting forwards, both hands upon the blade. There was an almighty crunch, as the sword dug deep into the Chieftain's chest. But then, it stuck fast, and before the man could release his blade, the Orc struck with lightning swiftness. The cleaver sliced horizontally, and the head of Jarod De Flure fell to the blood-slick floor.

Jarod De Flure, Noble and last of the line of the De Flure house, had fallen. A heroic warrior, a brave and knightly man, a spirited and valiant companion, but most of all, a Champion of the Deep.

All the orcs were dead. Save the Chieftain. As the vile beast turned to stare at Aethys and Grulf, vengeance and fury were unleashed. Hammered forwards with the blows of Starblade and mighty axe, the orc chieftain gave one last snarl and collapsed, in a pool of spreading blood. Jarod was buried beside Fellmarg, and the chamber was sealed with stone and magic: a fitting and honourable entombment.

'The dungeon is cleansed.' Aethys stated coldly. He was uncomfortable being alone here with Grulf, the helmeted and mysterious warrior.

'We have yet to find Verag,' Grulf responded. 'Place the talisman in the door.'

Aethys clutched the shiny, red talisman to him. He remembered the hero who had fallen this day.

'Damn it, let's get this foulness over with.' He slammed the thing into the door, nearly shattering it with his frustration. There was a shudder, and then the stone door swung inwards.

Immediately, the clang of steel on stone echoed from within, and the tones of a dwarven voice, cursing and swearing amidst evil laughter.

'Just die, worthless goblin-fondler!'

'You cannot slay me! I am Verag!'

Aethys and Grulf burst into the room. It was richly furnished, with a fireplace and a throne, even a gold-bound chest which no doubt contained no small amount of riches.

'Thanks for the introduction, daemon,' Aethys spat, and then unleashed hell.

Pure white lightning bolts streaked through with incandescent, blue ripples ripped into the gargoyle's stony flesh. The Starblade glowed with azure flame and fired bolt after bolt of miniature stars at Verag. Grulf charged, and his axe smashed into Verag's body, crushing and hacking with unremitting ferocity. The Trollslayer was barged aside as both Ranger-Mage and Warrior reduced the daemon's host to rubble.

For a moment, there was silence as the Champions contemplated their victory. Then the dwarf spoke.

'You imbeciles! You youngling fools! Do you realise what you've done?'

Aethys turned, his eyes blazing.

'Youngling? I was present when the war between our peoples tore apart our great nations.'

The Trollslayer looked crestfallen.

'Well, well…you deprived me of a glorious death!' Aethys' eyes smiled. He offered his hand.

'Aethys Starblade, Champion of the Deep and Ranger-Mage of L'Anguille.'

'Grulf.' The armoured fist was also offered. The Trollslayer looked baffled, and then shook one after the other.

'Gourlak, Gourlak the Invincible. I am…I am newly on the Slayer path, and wish to seek my death in battle.'

'Then why not join us? Surely we, Champions of the Deep, can find you a great and mighty destiny? And we do offer much…ale.'

Gourlak thought for a minute. Then a smile appeared on his brawny features.

'I accept your gracious invitation, elf. Which way lies the closest tavern?'

'I am pleased to make your…acquaintance, Herr Gourlak,' Blair Von Tyrenburg greeted the Trollslayer. 'I am sure you will make an excellent contribution to the Champions of the Deep.' He turned to Aethys as Gourlak and Grulf headed off to the alehouse.

'I grieve for the loss of Jarod De Flure. But it is the way. Many a companion I have lost in my work against the evils that befoul this world. I trust you…'

'Yes,' Aethys said softly, his head bowed. 'He is sealed within the Tomb of Fellmarg. May his eternal spirit wander a better place.'


End file.
